


So light me up like a cigarette and just let me burn

by Cirkne



Series: heart as loud as lions [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Mentions of Blood, Multi, descriptions of self harm by burning, mute Alexander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lessons in reclaiming your body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So light me up like a cigarette and just let me burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Kiia's fault.
> 
> Title from cigarettes by illy. the song has nothing to do with the fic

It's easy to forget that everything happening to them is actually happening. This body that they have. This body that they love. This body that they take care of. This body with burns and scars and hickeys. This body that never feels theirs.

Alexander writes, in one of his many letters: scars are proof that you are using your body. Like it's a good thing. Lafayette can get that, they guess. Sometimes. Burn scars make your skin lighter, like fragments of it have been pulled off. They didn't know this before and when they found out, they couldn't stop.

Their fingers and then their thighs. They like it on their thighs, people can't usually see, can't ask questions. And the skin is different there, takes longer to hurt, takes longer to heal. It's all about the healing now, all about how long the marks can stay as visible as possible, all about knowing they're there.

It used to scare people, used to make them say _no_. Lafayette wonders if that's what they wanted all along. Say no to me, say no, when you see the scars because I am no longer perfect in your eyes, say no because all you want is my body, say no.

John had been the first person to look at the burns the same way he looked at Lafayette all the time. No doubt in his mind about what he wanted, fingers careful at the sensitive skin and then not careful at all. And he hadn't said Lafayette was beautiful or sexy or attractive or whatever the fuck else people would say to them.

"You're so good," John had said, breathing warm on Lafayette's chest. "I wanted this since the first time you told me you'd kick my ass if I didn't listen to you."

"Not the first time you saw me?" Lafayette had joked, fingers drawing circles on John's back, eyes closed, smiling.

"You know I don't believe in love at first sight," John answered and pulled Lafayette closer to himself, didn't notice the way Lafayette stopped breathing for a moment. _Love_ because that's what this was to John and Lafayette hadn't allowed themselves that before.

In the shower later that night, Lafayette had thought: _please, just don't let this wash off_ and John was there in the morning, using the last of their bread for toast and grinning, kissing them close mouthed, strawberry jam sweet on his lips.

*

In the end, it was their doing. John, very drunk, had looked at Alexander grinning and said:

"Shit, Laf, if I didn't love you more than I love the world, I'd be a very bad man." They had been dating for five months. Lafayette had scoffed at him, arm around his shoulders and said:

"Go ahead."

Sabotage. Lafayette always liked words of French origin. Made them feel just a little bit better about their accent and the way they would forget things. This they knew. Knew sabotage since they were twelve years old. Scars on their fingers and their thighs and their brain and heart and everything they had. Everyone knows not to touch the stove, the iron, the pan when they're still hot. Lafayette knew this too and yet. Sabotage, sabotage, sabotage.

Except it was never like that with John, could never be like that with John. When Alexander came to him, he came to Lafayette too and he brought Hercules with him.

Sign language classes, freshly baked pies, mint tea in the cupboards, an extra toothbrush, and then another one, and then four in each of their apartments except Alex's because his apartment was far too small, melon shower gel, hair ties on wrists and the table and the floor and between the sheets, books with folded down page corners, shirts too big and too small for them in the laundry basket and for awhile, no scars.

And then scars again and tears, not from them but from Alex and then bruises and _don't touch me_ and _we love you_ and _shit, I just need your hands around my neck_ and more tears and apology letters and Lafayette learns to sign I love you before anything else. 

It settles and then boils and spills and puts the fire out and Lafayette waits for them to say it's over and none of them do. Sometimes they forget. Sometimes they think of how they love them and wish they were loved back and then remember they are. Sometimes they think none of it is real.

Hercules hides the lighters and the matches and Lafayette burns themselves on the stove and end up in the emergency room and so Hercules doesn't hide them again.

*

Lafayette holds a cigarette in their hand, spins it between their fingers. There's a lighter in their pocket, there's always a lighter in their pocket, they could light it.

"Not in the kitchen, Lafayette," John says walking in. He's holding some kind of book, something for work Lafayette assumes. Doesn't ask about that, instead:

"You're ok with me smoking?" John pulls out a chair for himself, rests the book on the table, sits down, shrugs.

"If you want to, yeah," he answers. "I doubt it's those mean neighborhood kids pressuring you," leans in closer to whisper. "Tell me if they are, I'll call their parents."

Lafayette snorts, pushes John's face away, keeps playing with the cigarette. They don't want to smoke. The hate the smell, they hate the way it stays, they hate that it's addictive. But there's- they could put them out on their hands. Round scars, smoky scars, scars that make the skin rough and ugly.

*

There's a reason. There's always a reason. If I feel them, if I see them, they must be real, if they're real, I must be real too, Lafayette thinks. Maybe. Not quite. Beautiful scars. Proof. Proof they're not perfect. They don't know their reason. They reach for things they know will hurt them.

 _Arsonist bastard_ , Hercules says when Lafayette tells him the bonfire's beautiful. A joke. Lafayette thinks about it. No. They don't want to hurt others. Just themselves. Their body. This body. This body that isn't theirs. A body.

"Ever tried razors?" John asks once, drunk, doesn't mean anything by it. Lafayette's holding him up, hands on his sides. Once. Twice, maybe. It's not- it's messy and it heals faster, and Lafayette doesn't like blood. Blood is John's thing. Fights. Bruised knuckles.

"No," Lafayette lies, John's leaning into them. He smells so bad, awful, it's all alcohol. Sweat. He's not off picking a fight though, he's leaning into Lafayette. Good. Lafayette presses their lips to the top of John's head.

"Good," John slurs, slow. "Don't. I'd hate that. I hate this, but I get it, it's what you know. I-" a long pause, John peels himself away. "I'm going to throw up now, but I love you. Love you, Lafayette. Wish you didn't do it, but I- shit. _Shit_ ," runs off in the direction of the bathroom. Lafayette waits.

It's not pretty. It hurts, the skin rips off and has to regrow. They do it right and then they do it wrong and there's pus and it's disgusting and Lafayette scrubs at their hands in the bathroom, ignores the sting. There's pus on their thighs and then it explodes and leaks through their jeans and Lafayette throws out the lighter and then buys a new one two weeks later. 

They have all this stuff for burns. Helps them heal faster. Lafayette doesn't want them to heal faster, that's the point. Hercules bandaging their thighs. Almost looks nice, almost fits them.

Alex mentions witches in his letters sometimes. Beautiful women, strong women, women being consumed by flames, women screaming from pain and women not screaming at all. Witches. Lafayette dresses up as one for Halloween. It's a joke. Hercules and John don't get it. Alex kisses Lafayette, smiles. It's a joke. It's not. It's fucked up. They get it, all three of them, they understand. They don't encourage it, but they get it. They bandage Lafayette's burns and they call them beautiful but never perfect. Lafayette isn't perfect.

L’appel du vide. Call of the void. French. Of course it's French. Lafayette has self destruction etched in their skin. Like ink. Like tattoos. Badly done tattoos fade over time, you have to get them redone. Redone. Scars are the same way. Hurt more when they overlap, Lafayette doesn't know why, doesn't care why. Just knows.

*

Skirts. Skirts that are too short for them. Skirts that shouldn't be too short, that weren't too short until Lafayette went overboard. Skirts that don't cover their scars. Skirts they should probably throw out, skirts they don't throw out, skirts that are taking up too much space in their closet.

A girl. Not a girl. A woman. No. Not that. Not that exactly but it fits, sometimes. Lafayette likes it. Likes it better. Doesn't like makeup. Wears lipstick, but that's different. Lipstick leaves marks. Likes marks. Likes marks that stay. Hickeys. Mine, Lafayette thinks, possessive. They're less visible on Hercules, but they're there. _Mine_. Maybe that's what they're doing to their body. Burn scars. Mine. Mom, look at what I made. Mom, hang it on the fridge, mom, I'm so proud of it. Hang Lafayette's body for everyone to see what they did. Their big art project, their masterpiece.

Lessons in reclaiming your body. Your teacher doesn't know shit. You go there to learn from their mistakes. Somewhere in the middle of the course their nonsense starts making sense. Are they finally learning? Or are you becoming them? You never know, but you listen. Lafayette listens. Lafayette listens, except Lafayette's the teacher. 

So many burns. So many faded burns. So many burns people refuse to see. Look at me, Lafayette's yelling and no one ever does and then they do. Alexander and John and Hercules. They look, they watch, they see. They love Lafayette. Love Lafayette the way they're supposed to love Lafayette. Love Lafayette for not how the scars look but for what they mean. Demand a refund when the thing you bought is deformed, Lafayette breathes and they breathe back: no. They love Lafayette. Lafayette loves them back. Loves this body. This body that isn't theirs, this body that they're giving away.

Take me, Lafayette says and they do, they take everything Lafayette has to offer. Love me, Lafayette asks, pleads, begs and they don't need to listen, they already do.

*

They lift their head to look around, their lighter is on the night stand. They flex their fingers, can't reach it from where they're laying on the bed. Hercules, to their left, lips pressed to their shoulder:

"You want to do it now?" he asks, casual, simple. The same way he asks Alex if he wants to take off his binder before doing something.

"Will you be mad?" Lafayette asks back, doesn't know what answer they're waiting for. Alex is kissing their knuckles, their fingers. His lips are soft against Lafayette's skin.

"Of course not," John answers, he's playing with Lafayette's hair. Curls strands on his fingers, lets go, curls them again. Lafayette doesn't want him to stop.

"Can you hand it to me?" they ask. There's a pause. Hercules kisses their shoulder, moves to grab it, gives it to them. Metal lighter. Lights right after you open it. Good lighter. An image of a tree etched on the front. Lafayette runs their fingers on it. Their skin rough, burned. Beautiful. Beautiful to them. Hercules' hand on Lafayette's thigh, thumb stroking over skin slowly. 

Alex is still kissing the knuckles of their other hand. Lafayette pulls their hand away from his lips, moves hair away from Alex's face. Loves him. Is too lazy to move to kiss him, keeps moving Alex's hair away and watching it fall back on his face.

John's thumb over Lafayette's eyebrow, down to their cheekbone, to their nose, to their cheek, to their jaw. They're all waiting. Lafayette flips the lighter open. Warm in their hand. Flips it closed, runs their finger on the lid. Warm. Squeezes it in their hand.

"Kiss me instead?" They ask.


End file.
